


a week and thirteen days

by Only_angel_28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Poetry, Songwriting, The X Factor Bungalow, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25157812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_angel_28/pseuds/Only_angel_28
Summary: Harry falls in love in the morning sun.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 114





	a week and thirteen days

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this nearly three years ago as part of a multi-chaptered canon fic that will probably never see the light of day, but I love it too much to let it wither away in my docs so I tidied it up and decided to post it here as a drabble. 
> 
> I hope someone out there enjoys it :)

The grass in the back garden is damp. Despite it being early August, the sun’s not quite hot enough to evaporate the morning dew that clings to the blades and refracts the light like someone has scattered handfuls of gems across the ground. It’s a typical English summer in that way. In every other way it’s anything but typical.

Harry is lying on his back, the sun still young in the sky, but high enough for him to feel the pleasant tingle of its warmth on the high points of his face. The dew from the grass is beginning to soak through his thin t-shirt, but he couldn’t be bothered. Louis is lying next to him – all wiry muscle and boyhood softness and caramel skin and wispy, gold-tipped lashes. His eyes are closed, his biceps bulging from how he has his arms folded behind his head. He’s the picture of content, quieter than Harry has ever seen him in the weeks they have known each other, just existing in their shared bubble of warmth.

The other boys are all asleep inside, probably will be for hours still, and Harry couldn’t be more thrilled at the prospect. The world is theirs, or so it seems. His and Louis’. They might as well be the only two living people on earth. As far as Harry is concerned, no one else exists. He could lay like this forever, in the rosy glow of the morning sun, just watching Louis breathe, and between them there would subsist a perpetual summer.

After a while, the skin on Harry’s back begins to feel chilled from his damp t-shirt, so he turns onto his stomach, his cheek pressed against his forearm and his arms crossed beneath him. A light breeze sweeps through the garden, ripples spreading across the surface of the pool, and leaves rustling melodically in the trees above. The sweet, floral scent of honeysuckle and lilac saturates the air, and Harry hums in contentment, his eyes closed in sheer bliss.

He feels a fingertip trail down the center of his back, following the curve of his spine, and squints one eye open to see Louis lying on his side facing him, his petal pink lips quirked in a shy smile. Harry mirrors his expression, his cheeks warming as is their custom whenever he is the sole focus of Louis’ attention (which, admittedly, is quite often, yet somehow still never enough).

Louis’ finger begins to move – dancing between the jut of his shoulder blades, and tracing nonsensical patterns into his skin. Harry stutters out a breath and lets his eyes fall shut once more, giving himself over to the exquisite sensation.

Soon enough, the shapes Louis is tracing become less abstract and more deliberate. Harry recognises the lines and loops of letters being formed on his skin, and focuses all of his energy into deciphering the words Louis is stringing together. He lets out a breathy little chuckle when he figures one out.

“Did you just spell the word ‘cock’ on my back?”

“Maybe,” Louis drawls out the word teasingly, his eyes shining with mischief, so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at him.

Harry can’t help the fondness of his laugh and the way his dimple carves deep into his cheek, or how his heart rate increases significantly and his fingertips burn with the need to trace the softly crinkled skin by Louis’ eyes. They are all familiar occurrences by now.  


“Do another,” he encourages, settling his head back down on his forearms and closing his eyes. 

Louis’ finger glides over his back once more, and Harry doesn’t even have time to get lost in the sensation of it before he bursts out laughing again.

“ _Tits_? Really, Lou? You’re corrupting my innocence,” Harry gasps, pretending to be scandalised.

“I have no idea what you’re on about, Harold, I would never do such a thing,” Louis claims, clutching his chest dramatically as if to demonstrate his shock.

Harry levels him with a look that conveys what a load of rubbish they both know that is.

“Okay, okay!” Louis giggles. “I’ll behave.” 

Harry closes his eyes again and Louis resumes their little game. He traces the word  _hi_ next. Harry’s eyes flutter open lazily just long enough to smile at Louis and breathe out a quiet  _hi, Lou_ in response.

His heart really begins to race when Louis’ fingers trace out the next word. He blinks his eyes open slowly and meets Louis’ gaze, his blue eyes soft and clear like a cloudless sky on a perfect day.

“Do it again,” Harry implores gently, his voice low and raspy around the whispered words.

Louis repeats the same word he had spelled out before, slower this time.

L

O

U

I

S

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry breathes. He feels the letters burn his skin like a brand, as if by writing his own name on Harry’s back Louis is staking some sort of claim, as if he doesn’t know that Harry is already irrevocably, indisputably his.

They share another meaningful look, both wearing soft, private smiles, the moment fragile in its intimacy and entirely their own. But all too quickly, Louis rolls over onto his back, his hand falling away from Harry’s skin, and his eyes slipping closed – the trance effectively broken. That’s the problem, Louis is always casting spells, completely unaware that Harry is hopelessly falling.

Later, long after the sun has reached its zenith and the other lads have roused from their sleep, Harry steals away to hastily scribble in his journal. The words have been bouncing around in his head all morning, and they seem to only get louder and more insistent with every glance Louis directs his way.

_I fell in love in the morning sun as the hours slipped away..._

The words flow effortlessly from his pen as if they are completely oblivious to the significance they hold. It’s as easy as breathing, or blinking, or any other number of things that are so second nature, so ingrained, that you don’t have to put any thought into doing them.

_You ran your finger down my back and you spelled out your name._

That night when he crawls into his sleeping bag next to Louis, he lays awake for hours listening to his breathing and wondering what it would feel like to write him a song. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are loved and cherished more than I can express. I’d love to hear from you if this is something you enjoyed :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr  
> @beau-soleil-louis


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